Not Forgotten
by ShansDrumstick
Summary: Set after season 5 finale. Dean lost Sam and finds himself unable to live on alone. Cas is supposed to help Dean but Dean is stubborn as always. - Destiel


So this is my first Destiel fanfic ever, my first spn- related fanfiction written in English and also the first fanfic I ever published on fanfiction net - yes. :D

Many thanks to my lovely beta The . Impala's . Trunk who offered herself so selflessly to correct all the spelling and grammar errors since English is not my native language. You are awesome! :) xx

Please enjoy reading and tell me what you think.

Claudia

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Dean stopped the apocalypse.

Sam was dragged into the cage with Michael and Lucifer, being tortured and ripped apart over and over again. But Dean didn't know then.

He wasn't exactly there but the angels say it was him who stopped Armageddon.

Cas says they do.

But that doesn't make it any better.

Sam had already died once but now he's just gone, and Dean does not know what he is doing anymore.

Castiel had gone to heaven after the angel's victory and Bobby is still bound to the wheelchair.

So Dean is just sitting there, drinking one beer after another before he goes for the whiskey.

He may have saved the world but there's nothing for him to stay for.

Every day he wishes he was dead.

Damn it, he prays he was but God's long gone and the angels haven't given a rat's ass about the planet since the big fight was over.

And there was no reward.

No 'paradise on earth', at least not for Dean.

Those dicks lied to him, of course they did.

He was all alone with his anger, with his hate and despair and this big, Sam – shaped hole in his heart.

It's been about five days now and he has already read through every piece of paper that looked (at least somehow) like it contained the answer of how to bring a soul back from Lucifer's cage.

But they didn't. None of them.

There was not much hope left for Dean.

He did not give up, he hadn't all his life (if you ignore hell - because that was not his life, but his death)…but now he was dangerously close.

He didn't even make a noise for five days, didn't even shed a tear about his brother.

Five minutes later the room is a mess.

Almost every single one of the countless beer and other alcohol containing bottles are broken and strewn across the floor, the table is flipped over and the chairs are not where they belong.

Dean is a sobbing piece of crap, lying on the bed in a fetal position, palms bleeding angrily from the broken glass, allowing himself to feel, to break.

It feels like ages, although it was barely a minute until he is finally asleep.

Surprisingly there are no nightmares this time.

When he woke up, he was slightly disappointed because he was still breathing…although he was certain to have drunken enough alcohol to pass out for forever.

But then he noticed he hadn't had a nightmare.

He'd had nightmares all his life (the few times Cas made him sleep dreamless not counted).

His head was not aching and his palms didn't hurt.

Physically he was perfectly fine, but the missing piece in his heart was still gone.

Dean just laid there, eyes closed, just breathing.

He didn't even have a sore throat.

So it was no surprise he didn't notice his presence until he talked to him.

'Hello, Dean.'

Dean didn't respond. There was no use. What could he possibly say?

He assumed Cas was the one who put him into that peaceful slumber and healed him.

But he wanted to die.

'I cannot let you die. You deserve to live for your actions.'

Great, he was reading his mind already.

Now he could see what a broken wreck Dean was inside.

That his soul didn't shine in bright light anymore. But he didn't care.

'Dean, there is no reason for you to mourn. You saved mankind.'

He finally opened his eyes and there he sat on his bed, merely a foot away from him, his back turned to him, wearing that familiar tan trenchcoat.

Dean made a noise.

'I lost everything. I failed. I was supposed to take care of him but instead I pushed him into doing this.'

'It was the right choice.'

'You have no idea what it feels like when you lose family. You don't even know _how_ to feel.'

There now was audible anger in Dean's voice. Cas still did not turn around.

'Dean.'

'No, don't. I don't want this. You should've just let me die. _Just let me die_.'

His voice was barely a whisper and it sounded as if he actually begged the angel to kill him.

'I am supposed to bring you peace.'

'Then kill me already.'

'Not _that_ kind of peace.'

'Then bring Sam back.'

'I am sorry. Even with regaining all of my powers I am not be able to pull Sam from the cage. No one is.'

'Then you can go fuck off.'

Dean closed his eyes again and breathed loudly.

'I was given the order to reward you. I will not leave until you accept the gifts from heaven. Tell me what you want.'

'What I want?'

Dean lifted his head to look at Cas' back again.

'What I want', he murmured.

'Everything you wish', Castiel said firmly.

Dean turned on his back and closed his eyes again. There was nothing he wanted besides Sam in one piece. And Cas couldn't do that.

He felt Cas shift and then a hand, cold and heavy, on his shoulder. It felt like it didn't belong there, like it had no idea what it was doing there because it has never done such thing before.

Dean automatically tensed under Cas' touch. It was exactly where he already left his mark in raised flesh.

It felt uncomfortable.

Neither of them moved nor spoke.

Cas did not even seem to breathe; but he never seemed to have to anyway.

Eventually Cas' hand warmed and started to feel _human_ on Dean's slowly relaxing body.

'Cas.'

'Shh.'

There was only stillness except Dean's slightly trembling but slow breath.

Then, suddenly, Castiel's hand moved upwards to where Dean's shirt met the skin of his neck.

Dean's eyes suddenly snapped open.

'Whoa, what are you doing?'

Cas' expression was still blank and angelic and did not fit the slightest with what his hand and fingers were doing.

'Castiel?'

'You wanted me.'

Dean couldn't process these words.

There was a long minute of no response.

'What?'

'You wanted me', Cas repeated flatly.

'Yeah, I got that. I mean – why? How do you . . .?'

A wave of unease rolled down Dean's spine.

'You always wanted me to touch you . . . . . _inappropriately_. I think I can give you what you want now. You deserve it.'

Crap.

Dean remembered these thoughts.

It was some time before the apocalypse started. Cas was right, he had wanted him then.

He was in his head and knew about it – all the time.

Dean could feel his cheeks heat up.

Bad timing.

Cas just can't blurt out things like these. These were Dean's locked – up feelings; no one is supposed to know about them, not even Dean himself.

Cas' hand was cupping his cheek now, thumb scratching over the long stubbles – Dean hadn't bothered shaving since _Sam._

Was the angel offering himself to Dean?

This was just ridiculous.

'Cas. You, I, I mean you don't have to.'

'I want to.'

'Yeah well, I don't know if I do.'

'You do', Cas retorted simply.

'But I don't want you to do something you don't feel comfortable with.'

'I will not feel anything', he informed Dean.

'That's not exactly better', Dean sighed.

Still, he could not help but lean into Cas' hand. It offered warmth, and the feeling of being protected.

It helped Dean to let go.

It helped to take a break from what happened, to be distracted for a little while.

He did not think about this distraction being an emotionless angel with male features.

Actually, he did not think at all when he moved closer and accepted Castiel's offer.


End file.
